Apple Cap

Apple Cap, that’s what she called it.
Teacher said her brother had one just like it.
No harm she can see in me wearing it in class.

Nope no harm, at all, with me being such a good student and all. I am her favorite, Teacher’s favorite.
Not the best distinction in sixth grade, but I don’t mind.
I want only to be left alone to dream some more.
Apple cap, jumping jacks, thumb tacks.
With a knick-knack paddy-whack, give the dog a bone.

My work done, I am idle again and my mind wanders,
Wishing, I make it so, drifting like a dust mote up and away,
Far from here, now, today.

“Pay attention, class. We will hear more today from Ms. Angelou…”
Effortlessly, I surrender to the rhythm, the cadence, the tone.
With a child’s ease, I conjure the woman through her words.

Sway-backed and swaggering,
She is righteous and reviled,
Snapping her fingers, demanding my attention.

I sit at her feet,
Anticipating with confidence
That I will savor the fruits of her hard experience.

Her difference, not mine.
Yet, her difference, like mine,
Distinguishes but does not define her.

Nostrils flared, chin high,
She is well worn, beautiful and free
In my child’s eye view.

My teacher’s voice, like burnt caramel, is thick and bittersweet.
Her kind eyes sooth my yearning soul.

Proud, serene, to me, she is indistinguishable from the woman in the story.
Both raise me up on their shoulders that I may see beyond today.

I listen hard that I may grow to see the time they seem to dream of for me.
When the dignity and courage of maturity replaces the fear of my youth.
When the sweet song of an old woman replaces the keening of a child.

When the careening search of my young mind is replaced by peace, wisdom.
When my knarled, loving hands sooth another’s brow.
And
I am free.

I listen hard
To their songs of courage
And dignity

I forget my
keening and careening
and I am free.

-- For Mrs. Wright, 6th grade teacher and phenomenal woman